


Nevermine

by Metal_Prince



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: 1990s, Angst, Cheating, Cussing, Drugs, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gender Non-Conforming Character, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Making Out, Marijuana, Multi, No paranormal stuff, Non-Canon Relationship, Prom, Sal sings and plays guitar, Sal wears a dress, Songfic, Symbolic Photo Burning, Symbolism, Timeskips, Travis cheats on Sal, Unfaithful boyfriend, Weed, forth wanderers, nevermine, sal and larry aren't step brothers, useless pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 19:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18016763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metal_Prince/pseuds/Metal_Prince
Summary: "I don't think I know who you are anymore,""And I don't think I knew who I was before."Based on Nevermind by Forth Wanderers





	Nevermine

Plucking out chords in a dark room, scarred and cleft lips spit out words that sound graceful; though when analyzed drip venom and truth.

 

_ “I am the one you think of when you’re with her. And what do you have?” _

 

The guitar picks up, becoming more upbeat while bony fingers pluck and strum alternatively; smoke and absent gruff chuckling filling the air around the thin individual.

 

_ “Nothing on me. Just some regrets and a plea.” _

 

* * *

 

**_June 17th, 1996_ **

 

A mixture of bubbly and hearty laughter fills up the circumference of the lake, two teens aged sixteen and seventeen running around the shallow parts of the water with their jeans cuffed up high enough so that few droplets stained the fabric.

It was only when soft lips connected with plaster ones did the two fall unceremoniously into the water, continuing to laugh and holding one another like the whole world couldn’t see them. Blond and electric blue mixed when their soaked heads came in contact, eyes scanning the sunset whilst they laid in the murky water together.

Eventually, after the sunset had passed its wondrous peak, a tan hand pulled up the thin teen by his own small palms; leading him to the shore and tossing a towel in his direction. Lithe digits grasp the cloth, pulling it taut around his narrow shoulders while they begin on the road back to the old apartment building the younger boy called home.

 

* * *

 

_ “I don’t think I know who you are anymore. And I don’t think I knew who I was before.” _

 

One blue eye briefly locks with brown and serenading lips upturn messily while lyrics spill past them. Chapped lips and a gap-toothed set of teeth grinned back, smoke seeping out from behind the crooked incisors; a bong resting on long, crossed legs on a shitty twin-sized mattress.

 

_ “In my own home, I’ve never been more unsure, no.” _

 

A calloused hand rubs at an exposed knee of the porcelain-skinned boy, whom never stopped singing or strumming.

 

* * *

 

**_August 23rd, 1997_ **

 

Anger and betrayal cloud the ocean blue tone of an eye only momentarily locked with hazel, seething rage shown by the way inky black nails dug into the blue and black fading gown that clung to the seventeen-year-old’s frame.

He watched skin smash against skin, lust staining those perfectly shaped lips and cheeks he once thought were only his to kiss. A blue eye watched in horror and shock when perfectly manicured nails raked along the smooth surface of a tan neck, leaving momentary white marks in their wake.

Calls of apologies were disregarded while blue Converse stormed past grinding teens and wallflowers, tears rolling down one cheek and catching at the bottom of a faux face.

Only when cold air hit the rest of the boy’s porcelain skin did he let sobs slip out of his throat and past his lips, shaky hands reaching up and carefully removing the plaster prosthetic from his marred features so he could scream and cry into his smooth palms instead; sliding down the outer wall of the school building and no doubt scuffing the pretty night-sky dress he wore.

His shaky fingers typed a message with the shitty buttons on his flip phone, tears still staining his left cheek and electric blue hair let down from the perfect rose-shaped bun it had once been in-- the beads and ribbons tucked into the safety of a midnight blue clutch that rested on the pavement at Sal’s side.

The simple eye makeup that had been applied to his left eye was streaked down his face, mixed with the previous tears while he waited out the next ten minutes in complete silence. His ears fall deaf to the calls of his name, that tone all-too-recognizable and too frustration-inducing for him to acknowledge at the moment.

Hearing a deeper voice call out to him was what stirred the boy, his fingers grasping his clutch before he forced himself up and off the ground; prosthetic face clasped in his other hand as he headed back toward the parking lot of the school.

Seeing brunet locks comforted him, the amber eyes gracing the other boy’s features even more pleasing whilst Sal picked up his pace to reach him faster. Reaching through the passenger window to set his bag and prosthetic down first, he was swiftly wrapped up in long, toned arms that caged him in against a warm body and the side of the old truck.

Marred features burrowed firmly into the familiar chest of Larry, thin arms staying firmly around the taller male’s neck while broad hands rubbed soothingly at the small of Sal’s back. Eventually pulling away, the Spaniard cups the younger teen’s left cheek and wipes away the dripping eyeliner and mascara with a calloused thumb.

 

_ “ _ You look like a wreck, Sally Face. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

Broad shoulders press against old, flimsy pillows while smoke continues to cloud the room; an olive-skinned hand coming up to gesture at a worn poster hanging up on the off-white wall.

“How long’ve you had that?” The gruff, drowsy voice slips out from behind chapped lips of a groggy college-age boy, brown eyes bloodshot and tired as they examine the colorful decoration.

Although, the suspect doesn’t stop playing to speak. Calloused fingertips continue to pluck and strum while the previously melodic tone speaks out hoarsely. “Two years, probably.” Then simply slipping back into a hum, one blue eye trained on the fretboard of the old electric beauty laying atop his thin legs.

 

_ “I didn’t waste my time.” _

_ “You were never mine.” _

 

The grizzly yet airy voice, once inquisitive, now sang along; his once rough tone turning smooth and honeyed.

 

* * *

 

**_August 25th, 1997_ **

 

“How long? How long has that been  _ fucking _  going on, Travis?!”

“Sal,  _ please _  calm down,” rough hands were held out defensively, “I don’t want to make a scene, take deep breaths and I can explain--”

“ **NO!** How the  _ fuck _  do you explain getting made out with by some man-whore at the prom that was supposed to be  _ our _  night, Travis??  _ Our fucking night!! _ ” Tears were already welling up in a vibrant blue iris, the plaster facade hiding any other emotion that wasn’t verbal, bodily, or eye-centered.

The blond boy paused, sighing exasperatedly and shoving his thick fingers through the unkempt curls of his hair. “ _ Sal, _ ” he sighed, “I...I  _ really _  don’t want to upset you...and I  _ never _  meant to hurt you--”

“Then fucking tell me. Tell me how long you and  _ him _ ,” his tone laced in poison, pale fists clenched, “have been a  _ thing _ , Travis.”

There was a long pause, and blue bored into hazel all the while.

“Seven months.” Was finally spat out from shaking lips, fists curling in the bottom of pink sweater fabric while once-bright eyes darted around everywhere  _ but _  Sal Fisher.

The blunet stepped back, staring in shock at the blond in front of him, eyes wide. “S-...seven months..,” disbelief varnished Sal’s voice, “ _ seven months,  _ Travis?” Rage was building up in the boy’s chest.

“I  _ meant _  to break things off--”

“With which fucking one of us, Trav?! Were you gonna leave me for him!?” His voice was cracking and breaking, hiccups and sobs spilling past the scarred lips hidden by plaster.

Passerbys stared in shock, eyes widening and jaws dropping while they watched the argument continue in the middle of the hall. A mere few months before graduation, and the school’s wrestling champion and resident freak were yelling at each other in the hall like it was Freshman year all over again.

Travis’s whole face had  _ guilty  _ written all over it, and he raised his arms in a weak shrug before his hands retreated to his pockets.

“We’ve been together for almost a fucking  _ year _ , and only  _ now _  do I find out you’ve been a fucking cheater for over half of this relationship?! That you were planning to  _ leave _  me because of him?!” Occasional sobs cut off his sentences partway before he was able to continue, wet tears building up at the bottom of the teen’s prosthetic.

“Baby, I swear to you I meant to say something sooner--”

A hard  _ smack _  echoed through the halls, gasps and whispering soon following it. A bony hand had connected with a warm, tan cheek.

“It’s too fucking late, Phelps.” And suddenly blue Converse thumped down the halls, students parting like the Red Sea to let him through. Sal knew where his confidant was, and he was horribly determined to get to him. He could hear thudding footsteps chasing him, but wasn’t phased; he knew if he could get outside to his brunet companion, he would go unbothered for the rest of the day.

His breath was only caught up in his throat when the back of his sweater was grabbed, and he was suddenly being slammed into the lockers; the wind leaving him accompanied by further sobs and a pained wail.

“Don’t you  _ dare _  fucking hit me like that, Sal.” The blond sneered, fist curled in the front of the much thinner teen’s shirt.

More sobs, now frightened, left the boy; eyes squeezing shut to block out the impending doom of the situation and silent prayers filling up his head. The thing to snap him out of his quivering, frightened state was when he heard a familiar deep voice. His eyes snapped open and trained on the amber-eyed male standing behind his ex-lover and assailant, a calloused hand gripping a pink-covered shoulder.

The tan hand once tangled in the front of Sal’s shirt let go, and the small boy was free to slip away from the lockers and take a few shaky steps down the hall before he was followed by black Converse; the same hands and arms of his savior wrapping around his midsection and legs to carefully lift and carry the teen out the front door of the school.

Quivering fingers grasped weakly at the tan fabric of the old, ratty metal band shirt his friend wore; eyes trained on his own thighs as he was carried bridal style to the old red truck Larry called “Baby”. The tailgate was opened and Sal was set down inside the truck bed before Larry followed suit, hoisting himself up and opening his arms once he was leaned against the toolbox.

A small, sobbing body was quickly nestled into his olive-toned arms, wrapping protectively around his friend and rubbing at his back while he mumbled reassuring and comforting words.

 

* * *

 

_ “Pictures of me will not fade from your head.” _

_ “They’re none of which you can replace in your bed.” _

 

Rough fingertips poked gently at the shoulder of the thin boy sitting on the bed, briefly coughing up smoke before he was able to speak again.

A blue eye glanced in the brunet’s direction, examining the Polaroid that was being held up in front of his face. “What about it?” He spoke, fingers still idly strumming.

“This is really old, huh? Like...from years ago.” Larry spoke, voice gruff.

Sal scanned the skinny, greasy teenager standing beside the young blunet; prosthetic shining a little in the sunset’s lighting and both of them holding up sparklers. He looked to the bottom of the photo, the date written. “...July fourth, 1995.”

Larry got an incredulous look on his face, over-sized nose scrunching as he brought the picture up to his own eyes. “How’d you know that??”

The lithe boy snorted, reaching up to flick the bottom of the image before his hands returned to his guitar. “Date’s written at the bottom, dimwit.” He grinned at him with a lopsided smile thanks to the diagonal scar running through his lips.

“...oh.” The brunet nods dumbly, hunkering back down on the twin-sized mattress and setting the photograph on the nightstand.

 

* * *

 

**_August 30th, 1997_ **

 

Sal gripped a Polaroid picture in his bony fingers, legs hanging off the treehouse roof’s edge with a cigarette held in his other clammy hand. Larry sat beside him, joint pressed to his lips while he stared at the slowly shrinking sunset.

Amber eyes finally landed on the little photograph Sal was holding, and Larry frowned. “Man...you gotta burn that, or something. If you keep looking at it like that, you’re gonna do something stupid.”

“Stupid how?”   
“I dunno, jus’...stupid.” He shrugs idly, taking a deep puff of the joint he held in his broad hands.

Sal gave a heavy sigh. He knew Larry was right. He didn’t want him to be right,  _ just _  this once.

“I don’t even know if I can get rid of it, Lar...as much as I hate him for what he did, he still... _ means _  something to me, y’know? Even though every time I look at his face, my mind screams cheater...and my body gets all shaky with rage...and just…” He stared angrily at the photo.

No matter how much Sal wanted to search for his usual sympathy he had for others, he just...didn’t have it for Travis anymore. Not after what he did.

Larry watched as his best friend brought the photo up to the cherry of his cigarette, lighting the corner on fire.

One blue eye observed the old photo of him and Travis, standing hand-in-hand on their first date, looking like they didn’t have a care in the world. Sal in a pretty floral blouse and jeans while Travis wore khakis and a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His blond hair was gelled back nicely, and he looked handsome. Sal’s prosthetic was clean, and his hair was in a ponytail.

Travis’s face was the first to burn.

 

* * *

 

Sal gave up playing for the moment, giving a huff of a sigh and turning off his amp before setting his whole electric guitar aside to lean against the foot of the bed.

“We should, like...do something tomorrow.” Larry piped up, glancing over from where he was laying with his legs up on the wall and back flat to the mattress, somewhat upside-down, and the bong long forgotten on the floor beside the bed.

“Like what?”

“Swap meat? Farmer’s market?”

“That involves getting up at, like...six in the morning,” Sal slowly glanced to his analog clock, “and it’s already two.”

“At night?”

“At night.”

“Damn.”

Larry pulled himself to sit properly, legs crossed and a groan leaving him while the blood rushed back to his head. The blunet gave a snicker at that, standing to stretch out properly and saunter over to his dresser.

“What about walking aimlessly around downtown?” Sal suggests, pulling out old gray sweatpants and a tattered band t-shirt from his sleepwear drawer.

“Sounds metal.”

“Everything sounds metal to you when you’re high.” He quips back, stripping himself of his sweater and skinny jeans to don his pajamas instead. Suddenly, he feels arms around his waist and snorts softly. “Want pajamas?”

“Mhm.”

The boy just smiled and removed himself from Larry’s embrace, crouching back down to hand Larry the sweatpants he always left in his room for “emergencies.”

“Thanks, Sally Face.”

“No problem, Larry face.” He pat the taller male’s now-bare chest, going to peel back the blankets and slip underneath them. Larry quickly joined him, wrapping his warm arms around the thin boy’s shockingly cold body.

“Ice cube boy…” The brunet muttered, face nuzzled into the crook of Sal’s neck and earning a hoarse chuckle from him.

“ _ Your _  ice cube boy, dumbass...get some sleep…” He mumbled, lithe arms wrapped around Larry’s neck as he drank in the larger male’s warmth.

On the edge of passing out, his phone buzzing roused him. Blearily, he reached out to the nightstand and grabbed the cellphone, flipping it open. He recognized the number.

 

[ _ I’ve changed, Sal. I swear. _ ]

[ _ Please come back to me. _ ]

 

Sal typed out a message, eyelid heavy and begging to shut.

 

[ _ I don’t think I know who you are anymore. Did you know who I was?] _

 

The blunet finally drifted to sleep after his phone was set back on the nightstand, curling up against Larry with a sleepy hum.

**Author's Note:**

> First songfic I was legitimately motivated to write for more than a day or two.


End file.
